She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. ‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. For what indeed does she do? A simple song, no gesture, no acting, nothing. 'Slife! you are wonderfully altered. Capes agreed with the utmost cordiality. How will I get an Englishman to wed me if they know that I behave not at all comme il faut?’ ‘Perhaps the Englishman in question will not care,’ suggested Prudence, with a twinkle in her eye for which Melusine was quite unable to account. A boy like John’s dashing friend David Mitchell, someone who shares your love of academics. Anna sighed as she reflected that her sister had simply revelled in her indiscretions.
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